


gonna need a whole lot more than stitches

by guardianoffun



Series: Shameless [13]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Bad Ending, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Nightmare Fuel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 09:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: set during Stitches, when Jakes can't help but think the worst.





	gonna need a whole lot more than stitches

**Author's Note:**

> written alongside imaginationtherapy !! im in love with this whole au, and while im crap at writing any kind of serious fic, i like to think myself a dab hand at slaughtering my favourites in terrible ways... hence this! sorry for all the italics lol
> 
> I do hope you guys enjoy, this was a labour of love from both of us ayyy
> 
> set between chapters 2 and 3 of stitches!

Jakes had found himself in Morse’s old office again, the windowless basement room he had been dumped in, now a spare room with overflowing shelves and a desk shoved up into a corner. A terrible idea in hindsight, because the stolen file lay under the jacket he had thrown on the desk; if anyone went looking for it, it wouldn’t take long to work out where it was. But he couldn’t go home, he couldn’t go back to his flat, where Morse had all but moved in. Couldn’t look at the shirts left on chairs and mugs left on newspapers because it was all just  _ him  _ and now he was gone. They had to wait until morning, apparently, to do anything about finding him. If they could find him. 

_ Bullshit _ . Jakes paced the length of the room.  _ He’s out there, somewhere, dying _ . He punched a filing cabinet.  _ We should be doing something _ . He kicked the desk.  _ He needs us and we’re letting him down.  _ He felt a wave of fear wash over him again. He skidded to a stop.

_He needs me._ The cold hand of terror had it’s fingers wrapped around his neck, icy panic spreading down his back, settling in his stomach. _He needs me and I’m not there._ The cold feeling curled around his heart, it found its way into his head, it made everything hurt more than anything he had ever felt before.Out of nowhere, Jakes knees buckle, and he has to stagger towards the desk to catch himself. The lamp illuminates the small desk clock that tells him it’s three in the morning, and he’s been pacing for hours now. Strange and Fancy, even Thursday, they had all gone home to get some semblance of rest before their little mission, but that just wasn’t an option for Jakes. He was too tightly wound to sleep, even though there was a pounding in his head compelling him to close his eyes, if only for a moment.

Maybe if he just sat for a moment it might slow the pounding of his heart against his ribs. He could fold his arms and bury his head in them for a moment maybe. He could watch the slow shadows pass across the door, let the soft noises of night shift wash over him, until his eyes finally closed and he found himself nodding off without realising.

* * *

Jakes feet pounded across gravel. They’d handed over the evidence, just like those bastards had asked. Thursday had thrown it across a puddle to the feet of Cole Matthews, who had pointed a gun towards Fancy until he was sure he wouldn’t be followed. He had told them with a laugh, where they could find the body of their constable, before disappearing into the back of car. Strange had been the first to recognise the name of the place, he had been the one to get them to the row of houses, all old and crumbling, scheduled for demolition sometime next year. Twelve houses, all detached with huge gardens, they might have been lovely once upon a time. Now each stood like a house of horror, Matthews hadn’t given then any further directions, so he could be in any of these.

Around him, Jakes heard the others, detectives through and through debating which looked most recently disturbed or some other indicator.

He didn’t have time for that though, Morse didn’t have the time to stand and  _ think _ he had to move. His feet pulled him across someone’s abandoned drive, something in his gut telling him it was that house, that one there with the overgrown sweet peas in the hanging basket.

It’s like Morse is calling him.

_       “Don’t leave me here alone.” _

Jakes crashes through the door, heart in his throat, so hard it hurts to speak.

“Morse?” he screams. Why does it feel like he’s already too late.

_       “Peter it’s cold, please help me. Peter it’s cold.” _

“Morse!”

_       “I don’t like the dark, please don’t let it get dark.” _

“Morse!” Why does every step feel like running through treacle.

_       “It hurts Peter, please,” _

“Morse!” Why won’t anyone answer him why isn’t he here, why is-

“Morse?” 

There’s broken glass on the windowsill, spray paint on the wall, peeling carpets barely concealing  rotting floorboards and a body on the floor.  _ Oh God no. _

There’s a puddle of blood, and then it juts out, a shaky line drawn on a dusty carpet. It marks a path across the room, so close to the backdoor that’s still hanging open. That’s where he lies, on his back, face turned to the sky.  _ Oh god not him. _

His mouth open, last words lost to the wind that beckons just outside.  _ I should have been there I should have stopped this.  _ It’s clear from the state of the room there was a struggle. Not all of the damage has been done by squatters, there’s a hole in the plaster just about where Morse’s head might have met it. There are scuff marks on the carpet from Morse’s size nines and there’s the blood, all that blood.

As Jakes struggles to push his feet forward, to step closer to the thing he fears most, he wonders morbidly how long it took Morse to make this journey. Crawling on his hands and knees, with a bullet, or a knife maybe, in his gut - that’s the only explanation for the blood across the carpet.

When he finally reaches Morse, it’s like the world falls from under him. Because it  _ can’t  _ be Morse, it can’t be but is  _ is _ . Jakes drops to his knees beside him, hands reaching for him, any part of him that will tell him anything other than the truth.  _ This can’t be happening. _

He presses Morse to his chest, gangly limbs and all, he gathers as much of him up as he can.  _ This can’t be it he can’t be gone _ .

He’s cold, far too cold, and there’s an unnatural stiffness to him, one that makes Jakes sick to his stomach. When Jakes presses a hand to Morse’s chest, he can feel the sunken space, the shattered ribs where a bullet has torn through. His fingers come away sticky with blood that’s gone cold too, everything is too cold.

“Morse?” he can’t say anything else, there’s no other words, there’s only Morse. He whispers it, hands cradling the frozen face of the man who had wormed his way into Peter Jakes impenetrable heart. He presses his lips to Morse’s face and whispers his name, asking, begging him to come back with a single word.

He screams it, when he gets no answer, when Morse’s hand falls to the floor, deadweight. He screams it as footsteps come crashing behind him, as Thursday lands at his side, as Fancy tries to pry him away from Morse’s corpse.

Strange is gripping his elbow, telling him something about how it’s over now, but the words all blur. There’s no words to explain this, there’s no reasoning there’s  _ nothing  _ anymore except this gaping hole in his chest, the space usually filled by Morse but now he’s  _ gone  _ and all Peter has to remember him by is this agony in his heart.

Nothing, there’s nothing now. The men around him are voiceless, the world drained of colour, the smell of rotting wood vanished; all there is, is Jakes and the cold, dead body of Endeavour Morse.

* * *

Reality snaps back like an elastic band, the sudden touch of a warm hand on his sending such a jolt through him he flies backward and hits head on the low hung shelf behind him.

“Christ, sir, watch it! Did you sleep here all night?”

George Fancy, eyes tired and suit rumpled looks at him, looks down at him, one hand still outstretched. Jakes rubs at his head, squinting in the sudden light as a light is flicked on.

“Did you find him?” Strange’s voice calls from afar. Fancy calls back. “In here sir.”

Strange’s face appears behind him.

“Let’s go then matey, Thursday’s in the car waiting.”

Fancy looks at Jakes expectantly, and it’s only then that the fog clears and Jakes realises they’ve not even left yet, it’s barely seven o’clock in fact. The whole thing was just some horrid nightmare.

 

At least, Jakes thought as he followed Fancy out of the station, he hoped it was a nightmare, and not a premonition of what was yet to come. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> let us knoooow what u thiiiink! i lvoe hearing from yall <3 
> 
> also fun fact i learnt whil writing this, the sweetpeas outside the house morse is in? their meanings include "Good-bye; Departure; Blissful Pleasure; Thank You for a Lovely Time" so... yeh lol


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